Sanguigenerous
by Vivi Marius
Summary: "It won't hurt," Sherlock reassures. "I know," John breathes.


"Are you ready?" Sherlock asks, watching John carefully.

John nods, and Sherlock lies next to him in bed, his hand skimming up John's bare chest carefully to rest against the underside of his left forearm.

"It won't hurt," Sherlock reassures, his thumb sweeping across the soft skin.

"I know," John breathes. And he does. Ever since Sherlock explained to him, they've been coming to this point. He's taken the pills Sherlock got for him, the ones that speed up blood production, for a month. When John agreed to this, he knew exactly what he was getting into.

Well, alright, not exactly, per say. But Sherlock had kissed him two weeks ago, and before John knew it, he had slammed Sherlock up against the wall and was biting and sucking at the man's pulse. And Sherlock had laughed at the deep, dark things to come before he replied mildly, "Now you know how hard it is for me to control myself."

Sherlock did have control, and that's why John had agreed. His line was known for their exceptional self-control in all aspects of life. Of course, Sherlock was the wild child, but John trusted him. In the end, that's what this came down to.

John carefully tugs Sherlock's head down to kiss his lips as one final reassurance. Sherlock straddles his hips and lets his lips trail against John's before they drop to his jaw, slide across his neck, and work along the collarbone. And holy hell, this is a lot more sensual than John originally thought it was going to be. Sherlock licks and sucks at John's scar and John's eyes close involuntarily. When Sherlock moves away, John almost moans in protest before he feels a kiss against his underarm, and then Sherlock positions his lips where his hand was earlier and nuzzles the spot.

"Yes," John breathes, relaxing his left arm in anticipation. Sherlock kisses, and then bites.

John registers the slight pain before it dulls to soft pressure. He counts five seconds before the endorphin-laced venom hit his bloodstream, and it feels absolutely unbelievable. His blood is singing and rushing; his mind is swirling, drowning in incredible pleasure; his ears are buzzing pleasantly and he's fairly certain his mouth is moving.

Underneath it all, he can feel the soft pull of his blood as Sherlock drinks. And John wants more.

His body is writhing, seeking out more pleasure because it won't be enough. He encounters it, whatever will give him more, and slides against it, moaning until Sherlock slides two fingers into John's mouth. And that's making everything better too, and now he's matching Sherlock suck for suck.

Sherlock pulls away, giving one last lick to the area before resting his head against John's chest, right over his heartbeat.

They're both panting as they move to kiss each other, their mouths opening. John moans when he can taste his blood on Sherlock's lips and he knows a part of this nearly euphoric feeling is because Sherlock's venom is still coursing through his veins, but fuck it, he doesn't care. Sherlock needs to do something, needs to help John because this limbo of pleasure is quickly becoming unbearable.

The second they break apart, John is begging Sherlock: "Please, God, Sherlock, touch me, I can't-too much-need-" Sherlock's lips press against his again, but John can feel Sherlock's hand blazing a trail of fire down his chest. It takes a moment to unclasp the jeans, then the work of a second for Sherlock to reach into John's pants and run his hand over John.

He arches into the contact before wrapping his arms tight around Sherlock. Sherlock starts a rhythm so mind-numbingly good John knows it won't be long. Their mouths break apart again, and John gasps for air before his mouth starts up a chorus of _please_ and_ God_ and _Sherlock_of its own volition. Sherlock's lips move to John's pulse on his neck and he licks. John's hands spasm before they dig into Sherlock's back, and Sherlock growls and nips at John's neck, and that's it because John's brain has spontaneously combusted on pure pleasure.

He's obviously dazed, so it takes him a moment to realize that Sherlock's in the process of orgasming, but by the time John's vision focuses, Sherlock's up and walking to the bathroom. He comes back with a cool cloth and rubs it over John, cleaning him up. Sherlock tosses it the floor when he's done, and John catches Sherlock's hand. Sherlock smirks and reaches for something on the beside table. He grabs one of the antiseptic wipes John had laid out however long ago it was, before he had laid down on his bed and Sherlock sucked his blood.

Sherlock lifts John's left arm and swipes the bitemark with the antiseptic. It's already clotted, and John judges that it will fade in a day or two, to his immense disappointment. "What was it like?" John blurts out as Sherlock finishes cleaning the wound.

"John, you taste delectable," he replies, placing a kiss on John's wrist.

"Did you know it was going to...end like that?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "The first and last time I had blood directly from a human, I was thirteen. It was much more clinical than anything we've ever done together," he explains, laying down next to John.

John curls up with him with a sigh. "You have no idea what the venom _feels_like," he informs, and Sherlock's mouth twists downward petulantly. "Next time, I want you to fuck me when the venom's still in my blood." John hears Sherlock's sharp inhale and watches his pupils dilate.

"John," Sherlock says, and it sounds strangled and halting. "You-can't possibly-"

"What? Want that? Want you inside of me in as many ways as possible?"

Sherlock doesn't answer. He looks a bit like a fish, the way he keeps opening his mouth to say something.

"How much blood did you take?" John asks casually.

Sherlock blinks before answering, "Only a half a litre or so. Any more and it would have depleted your erection."

John hums, nodding. "Good thing you didn't. That would have been disappointing," he replies, moving in closer to kiss Sherlock again. This time, it's slow and unhurried. Their kisses are not leading to drinking or sex again tonight, so they just kiss for the sake of it. When they pull away, John rests his forehead against Sherlock's and smiles. "I didn't expect our first time to be like that."

"Nor did I," Sherlock responds. "Not that I regret it. The taste of your blood is..."

"Like what?"

"It's..._consuming_," Sherlock says darkly, his lips twisting into a smirk. John shivers, knowing that means that tonight was just the beginning.


End file.
